


Christmas at the Boltons

by darkandstormyslash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Mutilation, References to Violence/Torture, all the usual thramsay warnings, gratuitous abuse of tinsel, no graphic gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: Modern Thramsay AU: Ramsay takes Reek to his father's for Christmas. It doesn't go well.Written for @stargazer-daisy for the 2018 Thramsay Secret Santa. Enjoy!





	Christmas at the Boltons

Christmas Eve

This year, Ramsay has a tree in the flat, although it's as much a tree as Reek is a man. Six spiky twigs from god-knows-where, spray painted a hideous lime green and stuck in a pint glass. Someone, most probably Ben Bones, has hung a few pieces of tattered red tinsel on it which make it look even less festive; Reek thinks it looks like entrails hanging from a diseased tree. The whole edifice leans against the window, too top-heavy to stand under its own weight, and rattles whenever the wind blows.The dogs won't go near it, so Reek spends most of his nights sleeping beside the rattling branches. If he presses close enough, he can still smell the paint fumes, which lift his mind up and out a little, away from the place of constant pain and cold where it usually lives.

Ramsay thinks it's hilarious, his own little present sleeping under the tree. 

"I should tie you up." He laughs, ugly and cold, grabbing at Reek's skinny arms and dragging him close, "Wrap you in ribbon until Christmas morning, nice and tight." His hand closes around Reek's neck until his pet is gasping and shuddering. "Or put you in a box, crushed up small, would you like that?"

Reek makes a strangled noise and just about manages to nod.

"But then you'd be hidden away from me - would you like that?"

Reek is glad of the hand round his throat then, because it means he can't speak. There's no good answer to that question, but he tries because he has to try. Ramsay listens to the strangled little noises for a bit, squeezes until Reek's eyes roll up and then drops him, kicking him into the corner. Not viciously, just because he's finished now and Reek will get in the way if he's left in the middle of the floor.

Christmas Day is at the Bolton House, and the thought of that terrifies Reek. Here at the flat he at least knows what to do, how to act, what is expected. Here he can debase himself fully, unthinkingly jumping for whatever Ramsay requires. At the Bolton house there will be new people, other people, and Ramsay will require him to act differently and he doesn't know how. Ramsay seems strangely on edge as well, snapping and lashing out more frequently than usual, even to his dogs. The flat isn't really big enough for five large Dobermans, but Ramsay refuses to get rid of them and, when Ben complains, snaps that there will be enough room in his father's house _when_  he's finally invited to live there.

On Christmas Eve Reek finds himself dragged into Ramsay's bed, but instead of pain or knives it's a rough desperate fuck. Reek grabs onto the top of the leather bedframe with his remaining fingers and Ramsay's hand closes over the top of them, his head dropping down into Reek's shoulder and biting as his hips thrust away. Reek stares at the wall, feeling sad because his master is sad. Reek wants to tell Ramsay that he is loved, that Reek will always love him, no matter what Ramsay ever does to him, but he can also tell that Ramsay doesn't want him to speak right now. He takes it silently, biting his lip, and if it hurts it doesn't register that much more than the general background radiation of pain in his life.

Ramsay tugs him downwards as soon as they've finished, one arm thrown over him, the dog-smelling blankets covering them both. Reek waits numbly to be thrown out of bed, but instead the next thing he hears is Ramsay snoring. He feels the terror and confusion rush through him, frozen to the bed in shock. He's warm, and comfortable, and he shouldn't be warm and comfortable because his Ramsay is sad and if Ramsay is sad then Reek is failing at making him happy and if Reek is failing then he doesn't deserve anything but pain.

His heart scitters nervously. He lays in Ramsay's arms for two hours before he finally falls asleep.

* * *

Christmas Day

Reek wakes to pain, but it's the dull throbbing pain of Ramsay's cock rather than the sharp stinging pain of a knife. He stays still, eyes fluttering but not opening, until Ramsay's hand lands in the whitened strands of his hair, tugging hard and probably pulling a few out, "Are you awake?"

"Yes." Reek whispers back, "Yes master."

"Merry Christmas Reek."

"Merry Christmas master."

Ramsay showers while Reek cooks breakfast; eggs, bacon and toast, none of it for him. Skinner and Alyn arrive with Damon, who throws a badly gift-wrapped book about WWII German Tanks at Reek's head and says, "I wanna borrow that book after you've read it Rams'."

"I won't read it." 

"I'll borrow it first then."

"You are going to be late." Skinner growls, as Reek hurriedly tries to pack Ramsay's things and wash up the greasy breakfast pans all at once. "At least try and start the day well."

There's no snow but the plunging temperatures have covered the city in a thin coating of ice. Reek slips and almost falls several times on the way over and Skinner gives him an exasperated look, "Couldn't you dress him?"

"No." Ramsay answers mulishly.

"Couldn't you wash him? He stinks."

"He's meant to."

Damon gives Reek a little poke and laughs as his feet vanish from under him and he tumbles down onto the ice. Ramsay growls and yanks him up by the arm, and Reek shivers as he catches a glimpse of the anger in Ramsay's eyes. He quickly lowers his gaze, but Ramsay doesn't do much more than snarl and threaten before leaving Reek to stumble along as best he can on ruined half-frozen feet in a pair of battered converses. His mind is clearly on other things.

The Bolton house is exactly as terrifying as Reek had anticipated, but at least it's warm inside. The feeling returns to Reek's remaining toes and fingers, and he bites the inside of his mouth to keep from whimpering at the fierce heated pain that comes with it. Ramsay's father is standing by the fire and as soon as he sees him, Reek experiences an unpleasant jolt. It's a re-surfacing of memories, an unpleasant vision from another life. The last time he saw Roose Bolton had been two years ago, also at Christmas, in someone else's house. Someone else, and Reek had been someone else, and he shudders as his mind tries to betray him and bring the memories of that someone else back.

"Why have you bought him here?" Roose snaps, and Reek wilts under the angry glares from both of him. "I told you not to bring him."

"Why shouldn't I bring him?" Ramsay answers, his voice clenching into a fist.

"He embarrasses you." Roose's voice is cold and he turns dismissively away, "He embarrasses both of us."

Reek feels his mind rapidly disintegrating into panic. He doesn't want to embarrass Ramsay, but he's not sure what he can do to stop it. He scoots closer to Ramsay, clutching at his shirt and Ramsay knocks him back.

"Go outside with Ben." Ramsay snaps, and Reek scuttles off as fast as he can. Ben is outside in the kennels and it's freezing cold but at least there's nobody else here; nobody else he'll be embarrassing Ramsay in front of.

There's no heat in the kennels except for the warmth of the dogs. Reek can't remember when he last ate. He curls up as close to the dogs as he can manage and falls into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Boxing Day

Reek has no idea what time it is, or even what day it is, when something prods him in the side, and a voice demands "Up." He pulls himself upright, swaying as his broken feet try to find purchase. His stomach aches in hunger, parts of his body feel numb with cold. 

Ramsay's father stands in front of him, peering down disdainfully, "Come with me."

"I-I can't, he said to stay - I need to stay here - I-"

"You're going to disobey me?" Roose sounds more curious than angry about the fact. Reek stares up into two eyes like chipped ice, shivering as he remembers another life, another boy, a boy who poked Robb Stark in the ribs and raised his voice to make jokes about bloodsucking lawyers.

That boy must have been mad. Roose Bolton is a very dangerous man. 

Dumbly, Reek stumbles out of the kennels, straw sticking to parts of him. He shuffles after Roose, trying to clamp down firmly on the memories that the man's face brings back. He can't remember that other life, he can't, he has to stay how things are now. He's Reek, Ramsay's Reek, Ramsay's pet. He lives in Ramsay's flat, curled up next to the dog basket, or under the dilapidated Christmas sticks. If he remembers the past now, he'll start crying and never stop, and if Ramsay realises he'll slice off every inch of skin from Reek's body and leave him a twisted writhing mess of forever pain.

Roose leads him up into the house, and into the kitchen. He runs a bowl of water and puts it on the table, "Wash."

Reek is shaking violently now, "I can't, I can't, please -"

"Wash!" Reek hastily dips his ruined hands into the water, staring at them. His fingers - he can still feel them aching sometimes, little phantom limbs from before Ramsay got creative with the kitchen cleaver. He's missing three of them now, and every one he begged for Ramsay to chop off.

Roose leaves the room, and Reek splashes water hastily over his face, taking a big guilty gulp of it as he does so. He tries not to scrub too much, not wanting to actually remove any of the dirty and grime that covers his face and matts his hair. Roose returns with a clean shirt, and Reek shudders, but doesn't complain any further as he tugs away the stinking tattered hoodie that Ramsay keeps him in and pulls the new shirt slowly on.

It's a black polo shirt, with the Bolton logo on the top left pocket. It hangs off his body looking like it's still on the hanger. It feels like he's dressing up as someone else.

Reek shuffles out of the kitchen behind Roose, sticking close to the man's shadow. He keeps his eyes lowered so he can't see Ramsay, can't see the expression he knows will be on Ramsay's face. Roose prowls around the room, occasionally stopping to chat to various unfortunates. Reek doesn't listen, doesn't watch, and tries his hardest to turn invisible, until he feels Lord Bolton prod him in the back.

"Lady Barbara Dustin." Roose is saying, and Reek is dimly aware there's a woman standing in front of him. She raises a hand to shake his and Reek dithers, uncertain whether to offer her a broken finger-less hand in return until Roose snaps out, "This is Theon Greyjoy."

Reek turns, without even thinking, turns to see how on earth Theon Greyjoy can be here, when Theon Greyjoy is dead. Part of him is even curious, for a brief moment, to see what Theon Greyjoy looks like now, and then the name properly hits him and he realises both Roose and Lady Dustin are staring at him. His body reacts first, shaking desperately while his mind whirs and catches up and when it does he screams.

It's a quiet scream. Ramsay doesn't like him screaming loudly in the flat. He knows how to scream quietly.

Barbara Dustin's face turns from polite horror to outright horror and she backs away, almost tripping into Roose as Reek convulses, collapsing to the floor. "Good gracious, is he alright? Should we, I mean, does he need a Doctor?"

Reek can't even think straight any more, a panicking animal trapped in the headlights. He writhes around on the dark-red rug, already feeling the pain, already experiencing his punishment. He blubbers in terrified gratitude as Ben Bones grabs him by the arm and hauls him back to the kennels.

* * *

 The last day of Christmas

It's a few days later when Reek finally regains proper consciousness, surfacing blearily out of terror to find himself curled up under the Christmas sticks back in Ramsay's flat. Memories of Christmas Day come back to him in fits and starts. He remembers screaming out his name as he was dragged back to the kennels, remembers Ben thrashing him with a fence post to try and shut him up, remembers Ramsay appearing, Ramsay's anger.

He remembers staggering back to the flat behind Ramsay, trailing in the wake of his rage. At some point during the aftermath, he must have passed out, sinking back down into the twilight zone of pain and fear while Ramsay carried out the rest of his punishment. His body feels sore and broken, and there's here's a stinging burn somewhere in his lower back. His hand reaches around to touch it and his fingers come away sticky with blood.

Why had Ramsay been so angry? It takes him a while to remember and when he does he curls up tight and whispers _Reek, Reek, Reek_ into the scratchy carpet for about five minutes. Theon, Roose had mentioned Theon, that's why Ramsay was angry. Ramsay hated Theon; Theon had been arrogant, loud and incompetent. Theon had betrayed his friends and his family, but Reek would never betray Ramsay. Reek was loyal, Reek was good, Reek was Ramsay's.

He feels colder than usual, and Reek realises numbly that he isn't wearing a shirt. He had one at some point, and there are sharp red lines along his body where it's been ripped or cut away, by a knife not too bothered about whether it was carving Reek or shirt. A Bolton shirt, from Ramsay's father. Why had Ramsay been so upset by a Bolton shirt?

He hears a creak from the bedroom door, and stills. There's silence and then Ramsay's voice whispers gently, "Theon?"

Reek feels a deep and grateful rush of relief. This is an easy one, this is one he knows, "No master, only me. Only your Reek."

Ramsay steps forward, crouching beside the Christmas sticks, looking down at Reek. He plucks a piece of threadbare tinsel off the tree and runs it gently along Reek's back, where it catches on the drying blood and tickles across healing skin. Reek stays still and quiet as a mouse.

Ramsay picks up another piece of tinsel. "Do you know where Theon Greyjoy is?"

Reek feels a deep floating calm as the tinsel crawls over his throat, and Ramsay catches both ends of it and ties a tight knot at the back of his neck, "Theon Greyjoy is dead."

The third piece of tinsel, this one drags down to his foot, tying in a neat bow around his skinny ankle, the prickling strands already itching where they've been woven maddeningly between what's left of his toes. "If Theon Greyjoy is dead, why was my father introducing him to that bitch Barbara?"

"I don't know, master." Reek whispers back, as the final piece of tinsel is tied into a crude bow. Ramsay places it gently between his legs, the softest and least painful thing he's done all day, and yet this is the one that makes Reek cry, hot silent tears as Ramsay pulls the green sticks out of the pint glass one at a time and lines them up in a row on the floor.

"Do you know what I'm going to do with these tomorrow?"

Reek nods dumbly.

Ramsay makes a satisfied noise and stands up, heading back to his bedroom. "Until every inch of that fucking neon paint is on your back, Reek."

Reek watches him as he heads back to bed, frozen still next to the green branches. The tinsel strands are itching and rubbing where they've been tied, but they aren't the reason he stays awake. His mind is still working, returning the way a tongue pokes forlornly at the space of a broken tooth, to the place it's been forbidden to explore. It worries him, it confuses him, and he can't help but think about it, can't help but wonder and worry.

If Theon Greyjoy is dead, why _was_ Roose Bolton introducing him at a party?


End file.
